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all week there’d been construction materials, an excess of woodchips out front and he’d grown accustomed to it just the very day they disappeared. he knew it had been the only spot available while the construction crew completely disassembed, or so it had sounded, the apartment right above his but when all evidence of them had disappeared, well, that was unexpected. Where were the sounds of walls being sanded, why didn’t they plug in a radio to listen to now that they could actually hear it while they started to paint.
he heard it all. from the couples beginning conversations to each nail that was hammered in, however excessively loud it had been, he had been there from the start and was excited to be a part of the process, however unheralded, unchampioned, his position had been. sometimes at night, lying on his back, thinking to the ceiling, when the noises of construction went on much longer than they ever should have, keeping him up, he considered them all in it together, that when it was done, a stanley cup of construction/home renovation would be presented and in the midst of the champagne shower, sure he wouldn’t be the one interviewed, nor the one who popped the cork but he would be there, quietly sipping his in the corner, akin to the team trainer.
but then he must not have heard it all. or he didn’t know what the sounds he was hearing were. but then what about the conversation with the couple when they had come to his door. he remembered it vividly because that was the day he had been wearing his purple ‘jumpsuit’ [consisting of differently shaded purples, sweat pants and shirt] that he had been too embarrassed to answer the door in, but by then they were already knocking and he was already naked, frantically scanning his room for another outfit but only seeing purple.
he made it to the door finally and ushered into the living room the couple he had heard, though not seen, for months. as he went to fill the kettle he took small pleasure, unexpected, a mental chuckle, to see their acting at odds with his immediate assumptions out of their appearances. the man was timid and the woman was not. she bounded, near bounced, across the living room into a chair while he looked around, unsure [she was description, he was description]
they told him of the construction, their plan to relocate for the two weeks and the favour they had to ask. they were staying at a cottage, the woman’s eyes lighting up in her tangent of/to/on/about the serene expanse of the lodging that awaited them, and so needed him to sign for a package, and in fact, they were so sorry but couldn’t think of what else to do, had already ordered it directly to his apartment. was that ok? well it kind of had to be now didn’t it?
it was coming on tuesday. they gave him the print out the company had given them and there, already, was his full name. the couple had gotten it last week when his mail erroniously made its way into their box. that’s what gave them the idea of the pkg and who to receive it. what was it? oh just work stuff, nothing too important, although try and find a cool, dry place for it where it would remain untouched. after just over an half hour of chit chat, you had come from there, i have come from here, enough time for them to feel sufficiently fine, as though feeling an impression had been made, solidified and they could go back upstairs without feeling like they were those people upstairs.
and then it was only a matter of the plan playing itself out. so they came and said goodbye, thanking him again, reminding of the restrictions. they hoped the noise wouldn’t be unbearable when the workers came and when they actually did, it really wasn’t.
he woke up the first morning excited. they hadn’t, but when he first woke up, those few minutes before the world turned on, he convinced himself his eyes had popped open excited. from his bed he wondered if the workers had arrived yet. he didn’t think so because he couldn’t hear them. but maybe they were all out front, smoking cigarettes, drinking tim hortons coffee, steam escaping out the lid, spitting, the day about to begin, wood to be cut, things to be broken. potential
they weren’t. he grabbed the kettle and filled it. he got out his favourite bowl, the big deep green one with the crack in it, the crack that had come from what? he couldn’t remember, never thinking about it, but it was the one that could now only support things like oatmeal, rice, cereal with yogurt but never soup, never milk. he got out the oatmeal, the brown sugar, the measuring cup, and then he opened the blinds and turned a lamp on because it was still somewhat dark. he got out the cd he had been listening to the night before. when everything was ready he said down on the couch and waited, with breakfast, tea and oats.
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pg 48 